


Wrapped up in you

by beans_on_toast



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicky | Nicolò di Genova are in Love, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Omega Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Post-Canon, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28700511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beans_on_toast/pseuds/beans_on_toast
Summary: Joe and Nicky need a little break after Merrick's. They end up in a little cabin and when they get snowed in, they make good use of a roaring fire and being alone.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 137
Collections: All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020





	Wrapped up in you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookwormywriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormywriter/gifts).



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Discord Handle: bookwormywriter
> 
> Short Prompts:  
> Immortal Husbands On Holiday  
> Anniversary  
> Snow!!!!
> 
> Longer Prompts:  
> Found family or actual family during any kind of winter festival  
> Unwrapping one another as a naughty holiday treat
> 
> Do Not Wants:  
> Non-con, dubious consent, angst with no resolution

Scandinavia is neither his nor his husband’s favourite holiday destination. They are both children of the mediterranen; warm seas, sun-drenched beaches, and hazy mornings that blend into afternoons. This was a last minute choice, a desperate need to get away from the blood under his nails and the feel of torn flesh under his sword. For months now, since Merrick’s, every moment he waits for Nicky’s heart to restart and his breath to rattle in his chest is one too many. 

It is a simple thing, to turn to Andy after their last job and ask for time off. She understands, centuries together forges something between souls and she is their alpha, in all ways but one. She reads the line of Joe’s shoulder and the tightness of Nicky’s jaw. She kisses their cheeks and holds them tight in her arms and off they go. 

The cottage is small but well fitted. There is a kitchen, a tiny bedroom with an even tinier attached bathroom. But they prefer the central room, the sofa well worn and large enough for two tall men to stretch out. The fireplace is wide and cheerful as the pine wood Nicky collected pops and crackles away. Snow falls. The doors and windows are frosted and the silence wrapping them should be too much. 

There is too much in Joe’s head; Nicky’s screams, the sharp press of needles, the smell of blood. Nicky’s blood, under his hands, beneath his fingernails, across his skin. Joe’s coiled too tightly.

But right now, like this, his hands twisting in his lover’s hair, this is how Yusuf al-Kaysani falls apart. Just like this; warm lips against his own and naked skin against his own. And, like this, he is made anew. Joe has mapped every inch of Nicolò di Genova with his mouth and hands and love. He knows the broad planes of Nicolò’s shoulders and the constellation of moles over his chest and tonight he wants it all.

He wants all and more.

‘Yusuf, my love, _Yusuf_.’ Nicky’s hands sink into Joe’s curls and _tug_. Nicky means it as a reprimand, a plea: _A moment's breath, my heart_. But Joe will not yield. Not tonight. He melts into the other man’s body, presses his hips against Nicky’s. They fit, as they have fit for nearly one thousand years. Joe captures Nicky’s mouth again and again and again. 

Their breaths mingle. Nicky tastes of wine and honey and Joe devours it, drinks deeply from his lover’s mouth. He wishes to moan loudly, to shout and scream. He wants to shake the heavens with the feel of this man’s hands on him. Nicky’s nose drops to Joe’s throat and nuzzles against his bare skin.

The sweet smell of slick blooms in the air. Neither of them are near a heat, but it doesn’t matter. It never has. Coming together is always like this. Joe whines, high and insistent.

 _Want. Mate_. 

Nicky knows what he means even without words. Nicky rubs his face into Joe’s neck, bites at the soft skin along the edge of Joe’s beard. Nicky scents him as his hands travel down, down, _down._ It is a question, the ever moving brush of Nicky’s fingertips. They linger on Joe’s nipples, pinching and soothing in equal measure. They dip across the expanse of Joe’s stomach and tickle along his side. Joe jumps, bites at Nicky’s lip.

Nicky’s laugh pours directly into Joe’s mouth and he breathes it into his lungs. He could survive on this alone, Joe thinks dizzily. No food is as satisfying as Nicky’s laugh. No drink is as sweet as the feel of Nicky’s hand on his skin, as the taste of Nicky on his tongue. The first time Joe smelled him, even covered in gore and sweat and blood, Joe _knew_. Nicolò unmakes him and remakes him again and again and again.

Nicky’s hands make their slow descent to where Joe wants them, where Joe _needs_ them. Just the touch of them, against his aching cock drives Joe wild. He presses into Nicky’s palm, arches his back in wordless consent. Nicky takes him in hand, wraps callused fingers around Joe and begins to work him, maddeningly slowly. Joe arches, begging with his body. 

He feels his own slick sliding down his thighs. He can smell Nicky’s arousal, the most tantalizing scent to Joe for centuries. Sweet and sharp and just for him. Joe slides one thigh between Nicky’s, loves the smell of them mixing and combining. _Ours ours ours._

His lips brush over Nicky’s neck, the spot where he would mark his mate. He nips and worries the skin; relishes Nicky’s moans. Their combined arousal and desire lies heavy in the air. After so many years, he knows Nicky’s body and Nicky’s knows his. There is nothing but this, nothing but them. 

Nicky moves his hand to Joe’s hip, uses it to gain leverage. He covers Joe’s body with his own, lines their erections together and ruts. Joe follows. He will always follow.

The fire is warm, their skin sweat soaked, but Joe wants more. He wants Nicky to encompass him completely. He wants to be smothered by his love. 

Ever since their lips first touched, back when it was all so new and uncertain, Joe has been Nicky’s. He fell into those ocean coloured eyes and down, down, into the space in Nicky’s heart that had been carved just for him. Time has taken none of it away. The spark between them grows stronger, hotter. They are one. Nicky’s pleasure is his, his pain is Nicky’s. 

On a battlefield almost too far flung for memory, they killed and died and bled and became something new.

They chase their end as one, staring into one another’s eyes and whispering words in a language no longer known. The end comes, as it so often does, with a shout. Joe goes first, delighted by the feel of Nicky’s mouth and skin and heart. And Nicky follows. Nicky will always follow.

Nicky holds Joe as he shakes apart. Nicolò, sated and trembling, draws Yusuf's pleasure from him with the practice of time, with the intimacy of laying one another bare. There are no secrets here between them, only the mix of their spend and their thighs slick soaked. Their scents together as it is always meant to be.

Outside, the snow still falls, but inside, Joe is safe. He is held and he is loved.


End file.
